


I can't pretend

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Declarations Of Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Jealous John, M/M, Miscommunication, Pretend hushand, bed sharing, fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7234291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had arrived more than a hour ago, and the moment they had walked inside the hotel reception, John had understood why Sherlock hadn’t wanted to come. Two men, posh suits and expensive watches on their wrists, had come to greet them with sharp remarks and badly hidden mockery, and John had seen red. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, mostly ignoring the two men entirely, and without thinking twice about it, John had slid an arm around Sherlock’s waist and introduced himself as his husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can't pretend

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Nie mogę udawać](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7848115) by [feature_of_interest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feature_of_interest/pseuds/feature_of_interest)



> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://johnlockfulfillmenbt.tumblr.com/)

“I still can’t believe Sherlock Holmes is married!”

John smiled at the woman next to him, Susan if he recalled properly, before looking over her shoulder, to the buffet in the far end of the room, trying to catch sight of deep black curls.

“Of all people,” Susan continued, taking another sip of her drink, “Sherlock Holmes!

“He always used to be so alone,” the other woman said, and John glanced quickly at her name tag. Alison. “He never talked to anybody, and he was always doing his… thing.”

She eyed him carefully and John forced himself to smile politely back at her. He had been sitting with these two women for the last fifteen minutes, trying not to run away at the first opportunity, and was starting to wonder if Sherlock was ever going to come back from getting them drinks.

John could still remember Mycroft coming early one morning to their flat a week ago, unexpected as usual, and announcing he needed Sherlock to attend a College Reunion in some luxurious hotel outside of London (an old favor Sherlock owed him apparently). John had to listen to his Sherlock's complains and various plan to avoid the even for two straight days, despite Mycroft’s concern about one of Sherlock’s old classmates ( _pretend concern, he's just playing with me, John)._ He had tried to convince him this could actually be fun and that they could have a good time, maybe deduced some of Sherlock's classmate but he had mostly earned some rather scary dead stares from Sherlock every time he broached the subject, and John had given up, preparing himself for what seemed to be a quite boring evening.

“Oh yes,” Susan exclaimed, “Remember when he corrected professor Kirth during Chemistry class?” She laughed, "You have to remember, everyone talked about it for days!"

Alison nodded eagerly, “Of course I do! He always seemed to know everything about everyone!”

John cleared his throat, leg bouncing under the table, and looked for around the hall for Sherlock again. They had arrived more than a hour ago, and the moment they had walked inside the hotel reception, John had understood why Sherlock hadn’t wanted to come. Two men, posh suits and expensive watches on their wrists, had come to greet them with sharp remarks and badly hidden mockery, and John had seen red. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, mostly ignoring the two men entirely, and without thinking twice about it, John had slid one arm around Sherlock’s waist and introduced himself as his husband.

Just for the look on the men’s face, John couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

At least it had shut them up long enough for John to drag Sherlock away, but somehow, the news had spread immediately, and John and Sherlock had become the main attraction of the evening.

“Does he still do it?” Susan asked, pulling John away from his thoughts and forcing him to focus back on whatever these two were saying.

“Sorry, what?”

“Does Sherlock still manage to know everything about anyone with just one look?”

John couldn't help but smile, “Yes, yes he does.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” Alison asked, sounding much too serious and John clenched his fist on the table.

“No, it doesn’t,” he replied, hating the way Alison looked at him, as if he was the unluckiest man in the world. “Actually, it’s one of the reasons I fell in love with him," he continued, hoping she would understand just how brilliant Sherlock was, always have been.

“Oh,” Alison whispered, looking down at her hands, and John could tell she was now embarrassed about her remark.

_Where was Sherlock?!_

“You didn’t tell us how you met, by the way!” Susan said, clearly trying to make everyone forget about what just happened.

“I’m not sure th-”

“Oh please,” Susan begged, “While we wait for Sherlock to come back, please.”

“I-” John began but Alison placed her hand above his, squeezing lightly.

“Please, we’re all dying to know!”

John sighed. 

“We met after I got discharged from the army. I was-”

“Oh you’re a soldier?”

“Was,” John corrected, “I got shot.”

“Oh god, that’s horrible!”

John shook his head, “I’m fine."

Alison reached for his hand again but John moved before she could touch him, placing it on his lap. Now would be a good time for Sherlock to come back and tell him they could get the hell out of here.

“That's good,” Susan replied, before smiling at him again. “Keep going!”

“It’s simple really, I was looking for a place to live and Sherlock had a second bedroom.”

Susan and Alison stared at him for a long moment. John shifted on his chair.

“And then? What happened next?”

John checked around him, making sure Sherlock wasn’t coming back. He only needed to tell them enough details and they would leave him alone.

“We shared a flat for two years, remaining just friends until Sherlock-” he stopped, “Until he had to leave for a long period of time, and by the time he came back, I had moved out and also, let’s say, moved on, but after a few months I realised I still felt the same and I decided to tell him.”

“And of course Sherlock had felt the same way all along!” Susan smiled.

John felt a familiar ache inside his chest but he smiled back at her anyway. He had wondered too many times now if he should talk to Sherlock, finally tell him how much he loves him and asking him if spending the rest of their life together seemed like something he could agree to. After all, they were both back at Baker Street now, Mary and the fake baby long forgotten, and to be honest, it had become more and more difficult to look at Sherlock and not simply kiss him.

“Must have been so romantic,” Alison sighed.

“Yes, it was," John replied quickly.

He took another look at the room, now desperate for Sherlock to come back but he was still nowhere to be found. Maybe he had caught sight of his old classmate, the one who might be selling government information, and decided to investigate without him. Sherlock had been certain the man was innocent anyway so he was probably safe. There was no need to worry. Sherlock was fine.

“I should go look for him,” John said anyway.

“Oh no, please, stay,” Susan replied immediately, “I’m sure Sherlock is fine, he must have found someone else to talk to that’s all!”

“Yes,” Alison added, “and besides, you haven’t told us the most important thing!”

John frowned at them, “What?”

“Who proposed?!”

John, once again, wondered what the hell he was doing here.

“I-” he started but was cut off by a hand on his shoulder, sliding up his neck before stopping on his nape.

“I did,” Sherlock said, and John let out a relieved sigh.

Sherlock was fine.

“Where were you?” He asked, glancing up at him while trying not to shiver as Sherlock’s thumb started to stroke his skin slowly.

“Getting us some drinks,” Sherlock replied, despite his empty hands, and John laughed.

Sherlock remained standing next to him for another second before taking the chair next to his right and sitting down. John eyed him carefully. They hadn’t had the chance to talk about John’s little improvisation, and Sherlock had seemed to enter the charade easily. There had been more touching since they’ve arrived, a lot more, and John had half hoped the night would never end.

Sherlock smiled at him, his hand coming to rest on John’s thigh under the table, and he looked back at Alison and Susan.

“Tell us, then,” Susan said, sounding way too excited.

It wouldn't have surprised John if Sherlock had just deduced one or two things about Susan and Alison’s own marriage to get rid of them, but instead he smiled and began to explain, “I waited a few months after John moved back. When we both confessed the true nature of our feelings for each other, I’d been already considering asking for his hand for a long time. When I was certain John felt the same, certain that he wanted me just as much, I realised I needed to make it official. I wanted to be his, in every sense of the term.”

Susan and Alison both giggled, blushing slightly and John felt his own cheeks heat up. He looked down at his empty drink, Sherlock's hand on his thigh warm and somehow comforting. Sherlock couldn’t possibly realise what he had just implied. He was just playing the game, and John felt a knot forming in his stomach.

“How did you do it?” Alison asked after a moment, and this time John truly hoped Sherlock would cut the discussion short and leave.

But Sherlock was already replying, the hand on John’s thigh sliding down to his knee, “I proposed at home, in our living room to be precise. It seemed right to do it there.”

John turned his head to look at him, but Sherlock kept his eyes on Susan and Alison. He seemed so much more at ease than when they had arrived, and John wondered if it was due to their little lie. He knew just how much Sherlock loved disguise, he loved to play, and surely this must be fun enough to keep him from being bored.

Just as John was thinking it was really time for them to head home, a couple stopped in front of them, eyeing them both for a moment before saying, “You two didn’t take the photo.”

“What photo?” John asked, not liking the two pairs of calculating eyes on them.

“Come quickly, we have almost everyone!” The woman said, reaching for John’s arm.

“We don’t want to take a photo,” he protested but got to his feet anyway.

“You have no choice,” the man replied, “We need to take a picture of every person who came.”

“That’s ridiculous, you can’t force us!”

Sherlock stood up, “Let’s get this over with.”

John watched as he followed the now grinning couple and waved a quick goodbye at Susan and Alison before following him. The photo area reminded John of high school and prom night, and it was far from reassuring him. He repressed a sigh and glanced at Sherlock, but he was staring at the photo camera and John zondered for a moment if he was trying to make it explode with just his stare.

“You,” the woman said, “come stand next to him.”

John went without a word.

“And you two are.. ?”

“Married,” John replied quickly.

“Perfect, then, you-?”

She pointed at Sherlock, expecting a name, and John rolled his eyes, “He’s Sherlock.”

“Right,” she sighed, “Sherlock you put an arm around–”

“John.”

“-around John’s waist, and John, you rest your head against his shoulder.”

John quickly did as she told, and a long shiver ran through him as Sherlock slid his arm around his waist, hand coming to rest on his hip. John tried to remain still, focusing on the camera and his breathing as he leaned against him. Sherlock was tense, so very tense, and John forced himself not to think about it.

“Ok, ready?”

She left them no time to reply and took three photos in a row before saying, “You two sure don’t smile a lot, but that’s done.”

Sherlock quickly let go of him, and John shook the worry from his mind. Sherlock was already leaving but the man stopped him, forcing the both of them to sit at the table next to the camera, and John glanced at Sherlock again. He was looking down at the different papers on the table but his hand was back on John’s thigh. It took a moment for John to realise the couple couldn't see it, but before he could proceed the fact, the women was talking again.

"So, the photo will go inside the album about tonight’s reunion, and we'd gathered some facts about everyone at the same time. That way, we can all catch up on what everybody has been doing since College!”

John glanced back at Sherlock but he remained silent. John couldn't help by worry again. It wasn't like him to be like that. Even when he put on a disguise for a case, Sherlock always gave everything he had into his characters. But tonight, something was off, and John found himself hoping it had nothing to do with him or his lie.

“Ok, so which one of you is a former student?”

Sherlock showed no sign of answering.

“He was,” John said at his place.

“Full name, please.”

John was about to answer again when Sherlock let out a loud sigh and got to his feet, glaring at the couple for a second before leaving. John was up to his feet immediately and ran after him without a second look at the couple. Sherlock was almost out of the room when he caught up to him, and John hesitated for a second before reaching for his arm.

“Sherlock, everything's alright?”

“I’m fine,” Sherlock replied, heading for the coat check.

“Are you sure?,” John forced him to turn around and face him. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, staring into the void, and John repressed another frustrated sigh. “Sherlock, just tell m-.”

“I heard you were here,” a deep voice interrupted him, making both of them jump, “But I have to say, I’m surprised.”

John turned to face the man who had just joined them. Tall, almost as tall as Sherlock, tanned skin, deep black hair and green eyes. _Handsome_ was all that John’s mind supplied, at least until he noticed Sherlock genuine smile and the lack of twitching when the man hugged him.

John tensed immediately, eyes traveling from the man’s hand on Sherlock’s lower back to his closed eyes and his nose dangerously close to Sherlock’s neck.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” the man said when they, _finally,_ parted.

“I still can’t believe that I’m here either,” Sherlock replied, still smiling.

The man pat his shoulder, “I’m glad you came.”

His hand lingered one, two seconds more than necessary and John stepped closer to Sherlock, sliding an arm around his waist and offering the man his coldest smile, “Sherlock, going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh yes, this is Victor Trevor, we were in the same class for two years.” Sherlock turned to face him, and John was certain he felt him lean back into his embrace before falling back into the act, “Victor, this is John, my husband.”

John had never wished these words were truer than in this very moment.

“Your husband?” Victor asked, clearly surprised, before frowning, “No wedding rings?”

John didn’t have time to curse himself for not thinking about that detail before Sherlock was answering, “Getting cleaned.”

“Oh, I see,” Victor said, sighing, “I guess that means I definitely missed my chance!”

“Yes, you did” John replied, pulling Sherlock closer by the waist.

Victor laughed, “My bad, my bad.”

John realised he must have been holding onto his waist too tightly when Sherlock placed his own hand over his, thumb caressing it slowly and John forced himself to relax. It wouldn't take long for Sherlock to realise what was happening and John couldn’t let his jealousy ruin everything. He only had to make sure this Victor would never cross Sherlock’s path again and it would be fine.

John’s hands clenched, “We should go, we have a long drive to get back home.”

“You are driving back to London?” Victor asked, still smiling, “You didn’t book a room here?”

“We were only made aware of this reunion a week ago,” Sherlock replied, “Mycroft forced me to come.”

“Ah, Mycroft,” Victor laughed, “Things haven’t changed I see.”

Sherlock let out a small laugh and John had to bite his tongue. Victor knew Mycroft. He knew him and joked about him with Sherlock. Sherlock was actually laughing, smiling at him, probably remembering the times where they used to talk about Mycroft together. John forced himself to look down and took a deep breath. Whoever that Victor was, no matter who he used to be to Sherlock, it was over. Sherlock was his. _His._

“I can fix that,” Victor said, “I own the hotel, I’ll find a room in less than a minute.”

“That’s really not nec-” John began, more than ready to go home and forget about the entire evening.

“I insist,” Victor cut in, “for old time’s sake.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, the same warm smile on his lips and John had to look away again.

“Follow me,” Victor said.

John made sure to stay as close as possible to Sherlock as they made their way to the hotel reception. Victor looked inside the hotel’s computer for a few minutes, Sherlock leaning against the counter and John couldn’t help himself, placing his arm back around his waist. Sherlock didn’t stir, didn’t even glance at him, and John wondered if it was still for the act or if he just didn’t notice anymore.

“Perfect,” Victor said, “I still have two honeymoon suites available!”

“We don’t-”

“Please, think of this as a second honeymoon,” Victor cut him off, again, “The room is on me, of course.”

John glanced at Sherlock, hoping for a response, anything, but Sherlock remained silent.

“We don’t even have clean clothes for tomorrow,” John remarked.

“We have services for that,” Victor assured him, “And there is all you need inside the room already.”

John looked for another excuse, anything to get them out of here, but resigned himself, “Alright, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Victor smiled, giving them the key, “Room 314, and please, come say goodbye before you leave tomorrow.”

“We will,” Sherlock replied, taking the key.

 _Like hell we will_.

“Are you certain you don’t have time for another drink,” Victor asked, looking at Sherlock, “to catch up a bit?”

John glanced at Sherlock immediately, not sure he could go to their room while leaving him with Victor, but Sherlock shook his head and John barely held back a relieved sigh.

“No, we’d better go.”

“Oh I see, want to take advantage of the room,” Victor laughed, winking at them and John hated the way he felt his cheeks heat. “Off you go then, see you tomorrow.”

He was gone before John could say anything, and Sherlock remained still next to him for a long moment, fingers playing with the key. John wondered if the was reconsidering taking the offer for a drink after all, and he felt the knot in his stomach tightened even more.

“Sherlock?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, let’s go,” Sherlock said, heading towards the lift without a glance at him.

John licked his lips, following Sherlock inside the elevator, and began to really worry about his silence. They’d shared silences before, lots of them, but they had always felt conformable. This silence was heavy on John’s shoulders, and he couldn’t help but think it was all his fault. He shouldn’t have forced Sherlock into this charade, forcing him to play an act in the middle of people he most likely hated and clearly didn’t want to see again.

 _No, stop_. John closed his eyes, a sudden rush of jealousy running through him.

They got inside without exchanging a single word, and as expected a large bed stood in the middle of the room. A very large one. John let his eyes travel on the different furniture, most of them red, and he repressed a sigh when he noticed the heart cushions on the chairs.

Sherlock went to the window, opened it and pulled out a cigarette from his coat. He still wasn’t looking at him and John didn't had the force to call up on the smoking.

“I’ll go shower first, then,” he said and went to the bathroom without expecting an answer.

Of course Victor had been bloody right, and John found fresh towels, soap and even some toothpaste with two clean toothbrushes on the sink. He took a long shower, longer than usual, trying to loosen the knot inside his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to believe he had just ruined months of becoming _them_ again in just one evening.

Sherlock was still by the window when he emerged from the bathroom, wearing only his pants but Sherlock didn't even glanced at him. John went directly for the bed, grabbing his phone at the same time, and slipped under the covers quickly. Sherlock closed the window and this time looked at him. John forced himself not to look away, dozens of question on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say a word as Sherlock headed for the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

This was getting ridiculous.

John checked his messages and e-mails, saving two potential interesting cases for later, and put his phone away. The bed was soft and warm, and John rearranged the pillows before settling in for the night. It was already late, and he hoped they could leave the hotel in the morning, getting as far away as possible from here. Sherlock would probably sleep tonight anyway. They had been working a tough case the prior week, and of course Sherlock had forgotten about food and sleep the entire time.

John sighed. It wasn't as if they haven't shared a bed before. They did, once, in Dublin, if he recalled correctly. Sherlock hadn’t joined him at first, but John had woken up to Sherlock’s sleeping face in the morning, his hand resting between them, and he had wondered for several minutes if Sherlock had held on to him during the night.

The bathroom door flew open and John closed his eyes. He didn’t want to watch as Sherlock, probably wearing only his pants too, walked to the bed. He didn’t need his body to betray him now, of all times.

“Can I turn off the light?” Sherlock asked, startling him.

“Yes,” John breathed out and soon the entire room was plunged into darkness.

John felt the mattress droop as Sherlock got into bed and shifted for a few seconds before going still again. Only the sound of their breathing echoed in the silent room and John felt his heart sink. The past few weeks had brought them closer than ever, almost like they used to act around each other before Sherlock had jumped, and stupidly, John had thought they could become even _more_. He had thought about it for so long now that the mere prospect of talking about it with Sherlock had kept him awake for hours. But now-

“I’m sorry,” John whispered, “I should have talked to you before pretending we were married.”

“It’s fine, John,” Sherlock replied.

John opened his mouth again but decided otherwise. He could feel the warmth radiating from Sherlock despite the distance between them, and he wondered how Sherlock would react if he just shifted closer, if he took his hand, pressed their bodies together, kissed him. It could be so easy, and at the same time, the space between them felt infinite. He waited for another minute, different thoughts going through his head, ways of making sure they were alright, that tomorrow Sherlock would be smiling at him again, telling him he’s an idiot and -

He inhaled deeply, “No, really, I should have make sure you were alright with-”

“I said it’s fine,” Sherlock snapped, “I understand perfectly well why you did it, so let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“What that’s supposed to mean?” John asked, taken aback by Sherlock’s sudden harsh tone.

“You know perfectly what it means.”

John sat up on the bed, “No, I don’t, so please, enlighten me!”

Sherlock sighed loudly, and John barely managed to discern his face in the dark room. He reached for the bed lamp, turned it on and faced him again. Sherlock had closed his eyes, both hand resting on top of the cover, and shown no sign of facing him. John felt an uncontrollable anger build inside him. The last thing he wanted right now was to fight, to make things even worse, but the image of Victor’s hand on Sherlock’s shoulder came back to him, and really, Sherlock had no right to treat him the way he did all evening.

“Sherlock, I’m talking to you.”

“And I’m choosing not to answer,” Sherlock replied.

“What’s gotten into you?” John asked, hand shaking now, “You’ve barely talked to me since we arrived, or even looked at me, and I’m supposed to just shut up and sleep?”

“Apparently not,” Sherlock snapped again.

“Of course I won’t! I’m sorry, ok. If you’re mad about the whole “husband” thing, then I’m sorry. I forgot how much relationships are beneath your brilliant mind.”

Sherlock opened his eyes, sitting up, and facing him, “Beneath my brilliant mind?”

“Yes, Sherlock, I get that I forced you into playing a role you despite, but that doesn’t give you the right to react like this! You didn’t even tell me about your brother’s suspect!”

“Oh, now you care about the case?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course I care about the case!”

“You clearly seemed to prefer staying and flirting than come to work the case with me,” Sherlock replied.

“What are you talking about?”

“You stayed with those two old and boring woman instead of coming with me look for Hermont!”

John frowned, letting out a broken laugh, “You said you were getting us drinks!”

“It was a ruse to get away,” Sherlock replied, hands in the air in a dramatic gesture.

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“I was away for twenty minutes, John, do use your brain sometimes!”

John laughed again, storming out of bed and beginning to pace around the room. He couldn’t believe this. 

“I was worried about you, wondering where you were, why you took so much time,” he said, unable to look at Sherlock right now.

“Of course you did, always trying to protect me, pretending we are married so people I don’t even care about won’t hurt my feelings!”

“Don’t play this act with me, Sherlock,” John warned, “I know you. You can put on a mask and let everyone believe you don’t care, but I do, and the way they talked to you, the way they even looked at you-”

“That’s my problem, John, not yours.”

“Of course it’s m-”

John stopped himself, the words he had kept to himself for so long threatening to spill out. He needed to calm down. Maybe he could go downstairs for a while, clear his mind, but then he might run into Victor again, and right now, John wasn’t sure how it would react if he did.

“Just don’t ever pretend we’re together again,” Sherlock said after a moment.

The words felt like as if John was being stabbed over and over again, and he quickly turned his back to Sherlock. They had only touched more than usual, and it was already disgusting enough that the mere idea of doing it again repulsed Sherlock. Or maybe, maybe it was just that Sherlock had wanted to-

“I’m sorry if my little lie kept you from catching up with your old friend Victor,” John growled, throat dry and his hands clenched into fists. “Please, go to him, I’m sure he can find a good use for the other honeymoon suite available!”

“What- Victor?” Sherlock replied, and John didn’t need to look at him to know he was frowning, “What are you talking about?”

“Oh please, Sherlock, you know exactly what I’m talking about. He made it quite clear he wanted you,” John snapped, turning to face him again, already regretting his words.

Sherlock was sitting upright on the bed, the cover on his lap and John’s eyes found his chest, unable to keep himself from noticing the pale skin and sharp hip bones.

“Why would I-” Sherlock stopped, sighing before letting out a shaky laugh.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” John hissed, wondering how he would react if Sherlock actually walked out the room and went find Victor. Most likely follow him and punch Victor in the face before he could even talk.

“John.”

Sherlock’s voice was soft, quiet, and John looked up to his eyes.

“John,” he said again, “don’t ever pretend we’re together again-”

“I got that the first time, thank you!”

Sherlock stared at him for another long moment before rolling to his side, and by doing so, turned his back to him again. John sighed out loud, considering leaving again but settled for going back to bed and at least try to sleep. He could still feel the anger boiling into his when he laid back next to Sherlock, and he quickly closed his eyes as he pushed the covers on top of him. He could hear Sherlock’s breathing, feel his warmth under the covers and he forced himself not to roll toward him and take him in his arms.

Sherlock didn’t want him. Just the idea of being married to him was too much, and John wasn’t going to make a fool of himself. At least now he knew. He had hoped to know what it was like to kiss him, to hold him, to make love to him, but it was time to face reality again.

When John felt asleep, hours later, the same thoughts were still running through his mind.

John woke up to something tickling his nose and he was about to sneeze when he realised the position he was in. His breath caught, his entire body tensing, and he closed his eyes for a second, making sure he was really awake. He was, and yes, Sherlock’s back was currently pressed against his chest, yes their legs were tangled, and yes, John’s arms were around his waist. John was about to roll over, to quietly pull away when he realised there were fingers caressing his hands, and just like that, he understood that Sherlock was awake.

How long had he been waiting for John to wake up?

Why hadn't he moved?

John felt his heartbeat quickened, suddenly wide awake, and Sherlock’s fingers stopped. He must have felt him waking up. John didn’t dare to move. He needed to take in as much as he could before Sherlock pushed him away.

Sherlock’s feet against his own, Sherlock’s heart under his hand, Sherlock’s scent, Sherlock’s warmth, Sherlock, Sherlock, _Sherlock_.

“Don’t ever pretend we’re together,” Sherlock said suddenly, his voice a whisper in the already quiet room.

John sighed, closing his eyes.

“Sherlock, can we not do this ag-”

John stopped mid-sentence, the words dying inside his throat. He could feel his heart pounding inside his chest, a long shiver running through him as Sherlock’s words suddenly started to make sense. He pulled back, forced Sherlock to turn over to face him and stared right into his eyes. The trust there, but also the sparkle of doubt made John’s heart missed a beat.

“I-” he began but found it hard to speak.

John watched as the muscle of Sherlock’s throat worked slowly, swallowing with difficulty as his face began to close again. John reached for his arm before Sherlock could make any movement. If he couldn’t talk at the moment, he could at least show him. Make Sherlock understand that they won’t ever need to pretend anymore, not if he wanted him the way John had always dreamed to have him.

John shifted closer, the distance between them reduced to centimeters, and let his hand slid down Sherlock’s arm, stopping only to take his hand in his. Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on him, scanning, detailing each of John’s actions, and John wished nothing more but to have Sherlock’s focused stare on him for years and years. He laced their fingers together, still not talking, and let out a quiet gasp as Sherlock’s eyes dropped to his mouth. Automatically, John’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and it was Sherlock’s turn to let out a broken sound. John put his free hand on Sherlock’s nape, fingers playing with the curls there, and pushing them closer, closer, clo-

Sherlock moaned as soon as their lips met, and John’s entire body shivered at the sound.

He kissed him slowly, softly, and Sherlock didn’t seem able to hold back the quiet sounds escaping his lips every time John pulled away only to kiss him again. he wasn’t sure how long they kissed, how long they remained there, barely touching, but it could have been either seconds or hours. When he pulled away, only to rest their foreheads together, eyes closed and breath coming short, John was certain had never felt more alive in his life.

“Never pretend again,” John whispered and he felt more than he saw Sherlock’s smile.

Sherlock brushed their lips together, not quite kissing him, and another shiver ran through John’s spine.

“No,” Sherlock replied. “Pretending is dull anyway.”

John laughed, “You’re the one saying that? You have more disguises in your room than an actor!”

Sherlock pulled away to frown at him, “I don’t!’

John laughed again, bringing him back, already addicted to the feeling of Sherlock’s lips on his, and whispered, “You do,” he kissed him, “you know you do.”

Sherlock’s reply got lost in their kiss, and this time John nipped at Sherlock’s lips with his teeth, silently asking for more, and Sherlock let out a sigh as he opened them, letting him in. John licked into his mouth, getting lost in Sherlock’s taste, and he felt Sherlock go limp in his arms. John let go of his hand, pushing Sherlock backward so he was lying on his back and crawled on top of him, still kissing him reverently. He waited until Sherlock was starting to shake in his arms to lock their hips together.

“John,” Sherlock moaned, sliding both hands up his back and into his hair before recapturing his lips.

Now that he was lying on top of Sherlock, John began to realise just how aroused he was. His cock wasn't fully hard yet, but the feeling of Sherlock’s body under him, of his own hardening erection against his thigh made him whimper into the kiss. He rocked his hips against Sherlock’s slowly, once, twice and Sherlock’s back arched on the bed, breaking their kiss to let out a loud gasp.

John took advantage of Sherlock offered neck to kiss the pale skin, teeth grazing and tongue nipping, and Sherlock rocked back against him. They were still wearing both of their pants, only their bare torso sliding against one another, and he quickly kissed his way down Sherlock’s neck, shoulders and chest, stopping over one nipple. He caught it between his lips and Sherlock’s hand quickly grabbed at his head, making sure John wasn’t going anywhere. John smiled, and kissed the hard nub over and over again, before making his way to the other one.

“Oh, god, John,” Sherlock moaned, hips still rocking against him.

John was fully hard now, the head of his cock peeking out the waistband of his pants, and he slid his hands down Sherlock’s side, finger finding in his pants and pushed them down his legs. He rolled to his back next to Sherlock to get rid of his own pants quickly, and was back on top of him the moment both of their clothing hit the floor.

“You’re so beautiful,” John whispered, continuing to kiss his way down Sherlock’s chest. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“John,” Sherlock moaned, hands on his shoulders.

“I can’t believe-” John stopped, sucking at Sherlock’s hip bone, memory of eyeing the pale skin back in Baker Street whenever Sherlock would walk around with his pajamas pants barely hanging around his hips.

Sherlock arched into the touch, his erection, leaking, hard and lean, poking into John’s chin. John let out a small laugh before closing his hand the base. Sherlock cried out, loudly, and John wasted no time, taking the head between his lips and sucking. Sherlock arched on the bed again, but John put his free hand on his hips, pushing him back on the mattress. He wanted this to last, and therefore, had no intention of making Sherlock come like this.

“John, please” Sherlock moaned again after several minutes of John’s teasing.

John swirled his tongue around the head, sliding it over the slit before pulling away in a quiet “pop”. He sat back on his heels, staring down at Sherlock and feeling his cock harden even more. If Sherlock had been beautiful earlier, John didn’t have words to describe him now. His hair were already a mess, his chest rising heavily, a flush spreading down his cheeks and neck, and John leaned back down to kiss him again. Sherlock immediately locked his leg around John’s waist and cried out inside John’s mouth when their erections slid against one another.

“Yes, yes,” John moaned, thrusting against him, “Oh, god.”

“John, I need more,” Sherlock panted, “I want more, please.”

John bit down his lower lip, “Yes, yes, whatever you want.”

“You know perfectly well what I want,” Sherlock smiled and John’s cock pulsed.

“Right,” he said, swallowing with some difficulty, “right, we need-”

He looked around and felt Sherlock laugh under him.

“We are in the honeymoon suite, John. I’m certain there is all we need somewhere.”

John nodded, realising he needed to detach himself from Sherlock to go find some lube, and he quickly kissed him again. They kissed for several minutes, very long minutes, until Sherlock was starting to rock back against him, and John forced himself to pull away and get out of bed. He quickly looked into the bedside drawer, empty. He checked the other one and cursed out loud that it was empty too.

“John, bathroom.”

John looked back at Sherlock, still on the bed, still hard, still beautiful and couldn’t help but go kiss him again, one, two, three times before practically running to the bathroom. He searched the different drawers and cupboards and let out a triumphant cry when he found the lube and some condom.s He heard Sherlock's giggle in the room and he quickly went back to him.

“I take it you found what we need,” Sherlock chuckled when John practically felt back on top of him.

“All I need is you,” John replied, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Really, Joh-”

John kissed him before he could finish, Sherlock’s laughter dying in his mouth. He settled back between his legs and put the lube and condom next to them. They moved together, slowly, enjoying the moment until Sherlock was starting to shake again. John reached for the lube, opening the bottle without breaking their kiss and pulled away only to pour some on his fingers.

“Are you certain?” He asked, eyes locked with Sherlock’s.

“I’m certain,” Sherlock replied, smiling up at him, and added after a long moment without either of them moving, “I am, John.”

John nodded, kissing him one last time before settling on his heels. He rubbed one finger againdt Sherlock’s perineum, waiting until Sherlock was spreading his legs to push a pillow under his hips. John teased for another minute, Sherlock moaning softly, before sliding his finger lower, stopping only when he reached Sherlock’s hole, the muscle working under his touch. Sherlock was staring down at John’s hand between his legs, and John massaged his entrance for a few seconds before pushing the tip of his finger inside.

Sherlock tensed and John kissed his knee, both legs bent on the bed, “You need to tell me if it’s uncomfortable, or if it hurts.”

“No, it doesn’t-” Sherlock blushed, “I’ve done this before, with my own fingers.”

John had to close his eyes, perfectly able to picture Sherlock fingering himself, and let out a shaky breath, “Oh, god, Sherlock.”

“But I’ve never-”

John looked back at him, lowering himself on top of Sherlock again, his finger sliding further inside him, and Sherlock gasped against his lips.

“We’ll go as slow as you need,” John murmured before kissing him.

They remained like that until John’s finger was completely inside Sherlock, John sitting back on his heels only to push it inside again. He waited for Sherlock to relax before adding a second finger, and then a third when Sherlock began to thrust back. John watched in awe, panting, and his moan echoed Sherlock's when his fingers hit his prostate. Sherlock’s entire body shivered, back arching, and his mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

“John, _John_.”

“Yes,” John gasped, “Yes, ok.”

He reached for the condom and lube again, but Sherlock caught his hand, “No condom.”

“Sherlock, it’s safer if we-”

“I’m clean,” he stopped. “I know you do tests regularly.”

“Sherlock, I-”

“Please, I need to feel you, completely.”

John nodded, unable to say anything at the moment and leant down to kiss him again. He put the condom away and this time poured some lube directly on his now achingly hard cock, slicking himself quickly before guiding the head against Sherlock’s hole. He rubbed it against Sherlock's entrance for a few moments, feeling the muscles relax even more. He looked up at Sherlock, making sure he was ready and found only pure want and trust there. Not quite believing his luck, John pushed in.

“Hmm,” Sherlock moaned, hands coming to rest over John’s where they were gripping at his hips.

“Oh, fuck, Sherlock.”

John kept pushing in, his eyes fixed on Sherlock’s face until he was buried deep inside him. Sherlock seemed to have stopped breathing entirely as John moved inside him slowly.

“You need to tell me if-“

“It doesn’t,” Sherlock cut in, “please, don’t stop.”

John pulled out just a little before sliding in again, “You feel amazing.”

Sherlock cried out, back arching on the bed, and the movement pushed John even deeper inside him. John gripped at his hips more firmly, pushing them up and Sherlock’s entire body shivered as John’s cock hit his prostate.

“John! Like this, yes,” Sherlock whimpered, rocking back on John’s erection.

John tightened his grip and started to rock into him, pulling out only to push in immediately, slowly, so very slowly, and soon Sherlock was thrusting with him. John could feel every nerve of his body coming alive, his arousal building again and again as he realised what was happening. He was making love to Sherlock, he was inside him, making him squirm and beg for more, all of because of him.

“Oh, fuck,” John groaned, slapping their bodies together.

“Yes,” Sherlock moaned, “Please.”

John let go of his hips to lower himself on top of Sherlock, and reclaimed his mouth. He kissed him hard, tongues meeting over and over, and Sherlock wasted no time, locking both legs around his waist and taking him deeper. Both of their moans were getting lost inside the kiss, Sherlock’s hands now running over his back and arse, and John let his own fingers thread inside Sherlock’s curls.

“Sherlock, this is-“

Sherlock kissed him, swallowing down the rest of his sentence, and hummed inside his mouth. He applied more pressure to John’s back with his heels, forcing John's stomach to rub against his erection, and Sherlock broke the kiss, throwing his head back as he cried out again.

“John, I need, I need-“

John was all but pounding into him now, and he made sure to stimulate Sherlock’s cock with every thrust. Sherlock was getting louder, hands tight on his arse, and John felt the first tremor of his orgasm low in his belly. He kissed down Sherlock’s cheeks and jaw, tongue darting out to lick and taste, hungry for more. Sherlock was panting in his ear, broken sounds escaping him with every thrusts, and John increased his pace even more. The sound of their bodies coming together was filling the room, and John was certain anyone passing in the hallway could hear them.

“John, I’m coming, god, I’m-”

Sherlock bit down on his lower lip as he came between their stomachs and John hurried to kiss him again. Sherlock’s muscles tightened around him, and he drove into him a few more times before coming too. His orgasm seemed to last for hours, and he rocked into him until his entire body was shaking with over-sensitivity. Sherlock’s legs were still locked around his waist and he kept John close when he tried to pull away.

“Don’t,” he whispered against his lips, "not yet.”

John nodded, unable to hide his smile and kissed him again, Sherlock going pliant in his arms. They remained this way for several minutes, until John’s cock was slipping out of him and Sherlock shivered beneath him. John rolled them to their sides, reaching for the covers, and Sherlock snuggled against him immediately. John realised he was grinning as Sherlock pushed him onto his back so he could rest his head against his chest, and John let out small laugh. He kissed the top of Sherlock head, holding him close.

“I love you,” he whispered, not able to keep the words to himself anymore. Not when he could still feel Sherlock’s lips on his skin, not when he could still hear his moans, feel his body around him. “I love you.”

Sherlock looked up at him, “John.”

John had never heard such softness in his voice before, and he couldn't look away. He loved this man so much, had loved him for so long that he wasn’t sure he could ever love like this anymore. “I love you,” Sherlock said, straightening up to kiss him.

John let him take control of the kiss, Sherlock sliding his tongue against his for several seconds, smiling when they broke apart before settling back against his chest. John traced patterns on his back slowly, fingers finding the scars there, and wondering how long it would take him to know each of them by heart.

John knew they needed to talk, needed to say the things they’ve kept silent for too long, but for the moment, he closed his eyes and with Sherlock’s warm body against his and his quiet breathing echoing in the room, he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are very appreciated

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Finally](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562611) by [Madam_Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Fandom/pseuds/Madam_Fandom)




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